


Swing A Little More On The Devil's Dance Floor.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: The Usual Suspects (1995)
Genre: Canon-Typical Everything, M/M, Mild Pet Play, No Negotiation, Obedience Kink, Yuletide 2018, Yuletide Treat, dirtybadwrong, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 18:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17085455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: "Don't tell me you've never done this."





	Swing A Little More On The Devil's Dance Floor.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saturni_stellis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! The title is from Devil's Dance Floor by Flogging Molly.

1.

The first time Keaton gets fucked by Keyser Soze, it's in a dark motel room. Soze takes off his watch and his tie. He lies back on the bed. And then he spreads his legs.

"Don't tell me you've never done this," Soze says.

And Keaton's never been one to obey orders. He's not used to having a boss. But he knows which way to jump here and it's toward the path of least resistance.

It's not bad. That's the worst part of it all. Soze is a seductive motherfucker. He knows what Keaton _likes_. He has his strings hooked deep beneath Keaton's skin and he knows how to make Keaton dance. Soze's shoes dig into Keaton's back as he urges him on and Keaton comes in his pants long before Soze comes in his mouth.

Scowling, Keaton wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and goes to the second bed in the room.

"Good night, Keaton," Soze says, sounding pleased and like he's talking to a fucking dog.

Keaton flips him off in the darkness. Soze can't see it. There's no way he can see it. But Soze's mocking laughter follows him to sleep.

 

2.

The second time, it's in a basement in Queens. It's one of Soze's safe houses, packed full of everything an aspiring criminal mastermind could ever want. Right now, it contains Soze, Keaton, and two of Soze's lawyers. Soze gives them their marching orders, then summons Keaton over with an impatient flick of his fingers. Soze's always five steps ahead of everyone. It's a privilege to watch him work. It's _terrifying_ to watch him work. Keaton doesn't know why Soze lets him watch him work.

"Do you know how to sew?" Soze asks.

What's Soze going to do, dump his mending pile in Keaton's lap? "Badly," Keaton says. The last few times he's held a needle, it was because someone got themselves cut open.

"There's a jacket behind you and supplies," Soze says. "Gershwin Jones is low on cash. It's a terrible story. And he also sews very badly."

Keaton gapes at Soze. He's killed for the man and now Soze wants him to help with his little cons? But Soze's looking at him, that dangerous twist of his lips just telling Keaton to go ahead and try it.

"Good boy," Soze praises as Keaton picks up the thread. Keaton feels a flush go through him, down to a curl of pleasure in his prick.

Keaton gets the rip sewn up and cuts the thread clean. He can hear his father in his head, chiding him for shoddy work. But he hasn't had any practice since he was fourteen years old and he'd never wanted to go back to those days. He's rich enough now to buy new clothes. He doesn't have to do this anymore.

Except he has to do what Soze tells him. That was their deal. Soze gets him out of the mess that had been about to bury Keaton alive. And in return, Keaton does what he's told. A tame little criminal for Keyser Soze's pleasure.

It shouldn't get him going as much as it does. He should be finding ways to get back at Soze. He should be finding a way out of his deal.

Instead, he puts everything away and goes into the bathroom to deal with the problem between his legs. He barely has his hand on his cock before Soze barges in after him.

Soze looks at Keaton's cock and tsks. "I can't have you distracted," he says. And then he puts his hand on top of Keaton's. "If you're not finished in five minutes, you're not getting off for the next five days. Understood?"

Keaton nods, mouth dry.

"Excellent," Soze says, and gets him off with two minutes to spare.

 

3.

Keaton's never one to keep track of his body counts. He doesn't go out of his way to kill people, but he doesn't go out of his way not to kill them, either. Soze always praises Keaton's loose relationship toward morality, but Keaton doesn't see how Soze's any better. That man blows people away for coughing out of turn. Keaton's seen it.

The trick of Soze is that he can take credit for anything and make it seem plausible. He has his fingers in so many different pies. And when he finds something he's not involved in, it doesn't take much for him to bluff his way into it. And when people have served their purpose, Soze gets rid of them. Soze likes being a legend. He doesn't like being recognized.

Keaton, as someone who can recognize Soze, knows his days are numbered. Soze keeps him around because he's useful, because he needs a pet murderer who doesn't need to get his orders from an intermediary. As soon as Keaton's not useful, he's dead. He can't ever let himself forget it.

He certainly can't let himself forget it when Soze is running his fingers through Keaton's hair, humming idly as he thumbs through a brief from his lawyer. Keaton keeps feeling his eyes try to close, keeps feeling far too relaxed. But every time Keaton tries to shock himself awake and wary, Soze just chuckles at him and scratches at the base of Keaton's skull.

Keaton doesn't know what Soze gets out of this, other than some kind of petty sadistic thrill. Keaton still has blood under his fingernails and on the cuffs of his trousers. Soze's never done this before when Keaton'd come back from a hit. If he starts doing this every time Keaton comes back from a hit... well, there's nothing Keaton can do about it.

And god damn Soze to every one of the levels of hell, but that makes it easier to accept it. That's the only way Keaton can accept it. He doesn't have a choice. He has to let Soze gets his kicks in any way he wants to. That was part of the agreement. Keaton doesn't hold himself back. And Soze pays him well. Soze pays him better than any boss or any job ever has before. And Keaton can tell himself that this is part of what Soze's buying, that this is part of the deal he made with Soze. Keaton knows how to lie to himself. This is self-protection, he tells himself. Self-delusion. You don't want to think about what it means that you're willingly becoming the pet of the most dangerous criminal you've ever heard of.

And when Soze is finished with the papers, he drops them to the floor. He grabs Keaton by the hair and pulls him up. And Keaton goes over the table, no struggle, no protest.

But he does scream when Soze tells him to.

 

4.

"Well, all right," Soze says, playing at Verbal Kint. The Kint name's an old one for Soze. He only pulls it out for special occasions. He'd been wearing it the first time Keaton had met him. It's disturbing how easily Keaton falls back into the mindset he'd had when he'd first met Verbal. It had been on a job. Keaton had wanted to protect him. And Soze had played him like a fiddle.

It had been his audition, Keaton knows now. That doesn't make the memories any easier to think about.

The mark looks like he knows exactly what to make of Kint. Easy pickings.

"Keaton, give me your gun," Soze says and Keaton hands it over. The mark looks even more confident. Verbal Kint doesn't look like a man who shoots men in the head.

And then Soze shoots the mark in the head.

Keaton looks at him.

Soze shrugs. "He didn't want to take the deal." He adjusts his cuffs beneath the jacket. It fits him oddly, like it's second-hand, like Soze isn't fussy about everything he wears. Soze likes quality. Keaton thinks Soze must be like him, coming from nothing, enjoying the trappings.

"What if he had taken the deal?" Keaton asks.

"Oh, I'd have shot him, too," Soze says. "But a few months from now." He prods the corpse with his foot. "Jeremy, you always had to ruin my plans."

"How far did you go back?" Keaton isn't sure he wants to know. But he does. How many old friends is Soze cleaning up?

"We were in juvie together," Soze says. And, oh. This is someone who _knows_ Soze. Someone who could trace him back to whatever hole he was born in, to his old elementary school, to everyone who had ever bandaged his knees or caught him shoplifting.

Unless, Keaton ruthlessly reminds himself, unless Soze's lying. And Soze's a liar. Soze lies by instinct, by habit, and by reflex. Keaton doesn't _know him_. Keaton knows whatever face Soze has decided to show him, and tomorrow Soze could wake up and decide to put on a whole new name, a whole new identity. Soze's good at disappearing. And that's why. Because Soze's a con artist at heart. The criminal mastermind behaviors are learned. The con is ingrained. Keaton has to work at that; Soze does it as easy as breathing.

It's part of what makes Soze so dangerous. He's smart, he's quick, and he'll use you and throw you away without blinking. Keaton regrets some of the people he's killed. Soze likely has never regretted anything. Keaton knows that Soze is going to shoot him in the back some day. He won't see it coming. He'll be lucky if he knows it's Soze before he dies. And Soze will walk away and never regret it. It doesn't matter how many times Keaton sucks his cock or spreads his legs. He's never going to be anything but a detail to Soze.

"Let's go," Soze says. He pauses by the pay phone and puts in a call to his cleaners. The corpse will be disposed of, the blood removed. There will be nothing to show that they were there other than a discreet payment and the knowledge deep in Keaton's brain that he could tug on this thread, that he could find Soze, that he could dig up Soze's past and use it.

And then Soze looks at him and snaps his fingers. And Keaton jumps to heel.

 

5.

The last time, it's in California. Keaton's always hated leaving New York. He'd arrived there as a fifteen-year-old runaway and had found a place for himself. The Big Apple had always been good enough for him.

But Soze has a bigger reach. And Soze has men he needs to kill. Competitors. Rats. Threats. And they're in California. So to California they go, Keaton, Soze, and the three dumb fucks that Soze's dragging along with them.

There's worse places Soze's fucked him than in the kitchen of a rental house. But it's uncomfortable. It's the first time around people who don't know who Soze is. Soze's minions have always been coming in and out while Soze did whatever he wanted; they weren't going to blink at Soze belting Keaton. But McManus, Fenster, and Hockney, they don't know. They think the great Keaton's debasing himself to a petty con artist. They don't _know_.

"Does it matter?" Soze asks him mildly, sliding into him with a familiar burn and breath against his neck. "It's a good cover, you taking your lover on a job. So sentimental, Dean Keaton. What's gotten into him." He sounds exactly like McManus. Keaton shudders.

"Of course it matters," Keaton says. He keeps his eyes closed. He can almost imagine they're back in Soze's preferred apartment, art on the walls, catered meals in the fridge. He can almost pretend they're not in fucking _California_. The weather's wrong. The sun's wrong. This is no place to die.

Please let this not be the place where Soze tires of him. Please let this not be the place where Soze tosses him to the side. Keaton still has use. Keaton can still be whatever Soze needs.

But not here. Not now. Not like this, not around people who don't know why Keaton obeys a man who looks like Soze does. He still has his pride. He still has his reputation. He can't ruin it here. Not in _California_.

But Soze just digs his nails into Keaton's skin and Keaton will always still jump to obey. And Soze doesn't let him get off. That's not a good sign. Soze's displeased with him. But Soze should understand reputation. He's always so concerned about his own.

Keaton wonders how fast he can run. He wonders how far he can run. He wonders if he'll ever see the bullet that kills him.

"Ready?" Soze asks him, pulling himself back together, pulling Verbal Kint back over himself.

Keaton nods, not sure of his voice.

"Excellent," Soze says, brooking no argument. "Time to go blow up a boat."

**Author's Note:**

> [Yuletide Reveal Post](https://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/1027055.html)


End file.
